Favoritism
by Sugar Skulls
Summary: Scott’s not the jolliest Santa the world has seen, and Bernard can be a bit Grinchy, too. It’s a match made in a freakin’ winter wonderland. Scott/Bernard drabbles.
1. Firsts

**Favoritism**

**By: **_Sugar Skulls_

**Summary: **_Scott's not the jolliest Santa the world has seen, and Bernard can be a bit Grinchy, too. It's a match made in a freakin' winter wonderland. Scott/Bernard drabbles.

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_

**i.**

The first time Bernard smiled at Scott, they had just finished arguing.

Scott had lost, as usual. That wasn't to say that he hadn't won his fair share of arguments with the grumpy elf, but Bernard was definitely in the lead. He had wit to rival Scott's, and maybe being several millennia old gave him an edge. He had experience and that occasional bout of condescension that gave off the distinct air of _teenager._ Scott had his blatant disregard of tact, bordering on obnoxiousness, and he wasn't above resorting to immature measures to win an argument.

But their arguments were superficial and inconsequential, both of them knew that. They argued simply for the sake of arguing, sizing one another up and always leaving with a bit more appreciation for the other's bickering skills, no matter who won that particular round. It didn't affect their work; Bernard followed Scott's orders when he gave them, Scott followed Bernard's professional advice when he offered it. Their arguments were purely recreational.

Bernard never smiled when he won an argument. He always gave Scott his haughty "I won, so _there_" raise of the eyebrows before turning on his heel and going off to do whatever. He never greeted Scott with a smile in the mornings or departed with a sleepy smile like the other elves did. Scott just got a food-stuffed "Hey" at breakfasts, and a careless wave of the hand accompanied by a "'Night" after dinner. Not that Scott minded or anything. Bernard just didn't smile at him. That was how it was. But it wasn't like he had never seen him smile before. Bernard smiled at Charlie and Judy and Quentin. Bernard smiled proudly whenever particularly difficult projects were completed successfully. Bernard pasted on tight, false smiles when he was pissed at Scott but didn't want to alarm the other elves. Bernard flashed sarcastic, patronizing smiles at Scott when they argued.

But the first time Bernard actually, _truly_ smiled at Scott—at Scott himself, at something Scott did, simply because it made him happy, and not one of his infuriating know-it-all smirks—was after an argument.

Scott glared at him, his expression most surly. His battle was lost, but he wanted to have the last word, though he knew it to be a lost cause. So he grumbled, "Yeah, well…your hat is stupid." He expected to receive a distinctly unimpressed look from Bernard, maybe even a roll of his eyes. He was hoping he did—he could pick another fight and maybe this time he'd win.

But instead, Bernard looked puzzled by Scott's feeble insult. Then a fleeting, sparkling little smile flashed across his features before he shook his head and strode away. Scott turned to watch him go, blinking rapidly. Bernard had smiled at him.

He'd have to attack that goofy hat of his more often.

**ii.**

The first time Bernard laughed at Scott, Scott had invited him to see a movie.

Scott hadn't spent much quality time with Charlie in a while, so he offered to see a movie with him. _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_, starring Jim Carrey. Charlie looked pleased that his dad sought out to spend time with him, but then his smile turned apologetic as he explained that he had already made plans to see that very movie that very night with a girl from school. Scott was surprised (Charlie hadn't turned down an opportunity to hang out with him since he was six), a bit disappointed (he had missed his son and hoped to catch up with him), but mostly he was proud. He thumped Charlie on the back, exclaiming "Score!" and telling him not to worry, they could hang out some other time.

But back at the North Pole, Scott decided he really did want to see that movie.

"Hey, Bernard!"

Bernard eyes didn't leave the jack-in-the-box he was examining critically from all angles, while a little elf girl stood by, waiting for him to give it back. "Yeah?"

Scott jogged up beside him. "Come see a movie with me."

Bernard looked up, confused. "What?"

"I wanted to see a movie with Charlie, but he's got a date," Scott shrugged. "I still want to see it, so I figured I'd invite you."

Bernard's eyebrows disappeared under his hat. "I can't, I'm working."

Scott dismissed his excuse with a nonchalant wave, trying not to feel irritated. Turned down by his son then turned down by his employee. He was starting to feel like that annoying kid in high school nobody wanted to hang out with.

"Take a break, God knows you need one," Scott insisted. "C'mon, it's just a movie."

Bernard furrowed his brow and handed the other elf her jack-in-the-box and turning to Scott. He crossed his arms, his expression bemused. "Well, that's…nice, I guess." He seemed to be deliberating declining the offer again. After a moment, he asked skeptically, "What movie?"

"The new _Grinch_ movie," Scott said readily.

Bernard startled him by jerking in surprise and clapping his hands suddenly over the other elf's ears and shooting Scott a very nasty look.

"Language, Santa!" he snapped angrily. The little elf looked startled, as did Scott.

"What?" he said, bewildered. "What did I say? _Grinch?_"

"Yes!" Bernard snarled. "Now cut it out! This is a family-friendly workplace, thanks!"

"Well, _sorry_," Scott snapped back, temper flaring defensively. "It's not like I _knew_—"

But Bernard had dropped his hands from the elf's ears and was smirking at Scott, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"You're so stupid; I can't believe you fell for that," Bernard said, his shoulders shaking as golden bursts of laughter tumbled from his lips mirthfully. The sound caught Scott off guard; he had never heard Bernard laugh, and he found himself wondering why anyone would tolerate that elf _not_ laughing.

Scott's brain was still short-circuited as Bernard brushed past him, snickering that yeah, he'd see that movie with him.

**iii.**

The first time Bernard hugged Scott, Scott had very nearly fallen off a roof.

It had been a terrifying experience. Scott knew better than anyone; when he was nine, he fell off his roof and broke his leg, and he didn't relish the thought of a repeat. Plus, he'd seen the previous Santa Claus plummet painfully off of his roof not too long ago, and it definitely didn't look like fun. Furthermore, falling off a roof was fatal to him now, so now the whole concept seemed like a big bucket full of suck.

But as he stared, upside-down, at the snow-covered lawn just a few feet away, Scott had been immensely grateful for the rope Comet had made him several years ago. Sure, it hurt like hell to have that thing nearly break him in half when it abruptly went taut, but it did keep him from a sad little Santa death, so he hadn't complained. He had managed to clamber back up onto the roof, thank his lucky stars he hadn't wet himself, and finish his job around the world. He wondered if the elves would know he had come so close to dying.

Turns out, they did.

When his sleigh touched the floor of the workshop, Scott was surprised to see nearly every elf in the North Pole waiting for him. Bernard stood out among them, towering over most of the others near the front. The majority of them were pale with worry, eyes still wide as saucers.

"So, you guys saw that?" Scott guessed. Suddenly, the tense quiet was broken by several little voices crying out, "Are you okay, sir?" and "Santa, we were so worried!" Scott let himself be tugged from his sleigh, little hands patting his suit carefully. Several pairs of arms were thrown around his already-shrinking waist. Scott patted countless heads gave apologetic hugs to his distressed elves.

"I'm just fine, I swear," he promised over and over. "Comet's rope saved me, I'm okay. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I'm fine…"

Finally, Bernard reached him, his face still colorless and his lips pressed into a dangerously thin line. Scott sighed.

"Don't yell at me," he said tiredly. "It was an accident, I'm sorry I made everyone worry—"

"I'm just…" Bernard interrupted stiffly, raising a hand to stop Scott. Scott wondered if it was trembling, or if that was just his tired eyes playing tricks on him. "...glad your okay." He held out his hand for a formal handshake, which Scott ignored, rolling his eyes, as he stepped forward to hug him. Bernard staggered a bit, uttering a startled little "Um…" before hesitantly returning the squeezing embrace. Scott heard him mutter, "Really glad."

The moment ended there, a little awkwardly as they separated. Scott headed for his bedroom, looking forward to an uninterrupted night's sleep, and silently thanking Comet for making him a rope that got him more than just a continuing lifespan.

**iv.**

The first time Bernard kissed Scott, it had been on accident.

On Sundays, Bernard worked in the kitchens. It shouldn't have been surprising; the elf was had an enormous appetite, and didn't settle for less than perfect when it came to food. Scott could still remember Bernard's first words to him on Thanksgiving after their blowout at the North Pole that first Christmas Eve he became Santa. _"Boy, this bird is dry. Haven't you people heard about basting?"_

Bernard's idea of teach Scott to cook came from out of nowhere.

"Santa, what all do you know how to cook?" he demanded suddenly.

Scott had blinked at him for a few seconds before saying, "Uh…Ramen noodles."

Bernard nodded contemplatively. "And that's it?"

Scott shrugged. "Pretty much, yeah." He figured burning a turkey didn't count.

Bernard turned. "Follow me. You're learning how to cook."

Scott protested—not that he had anything against being taught how to cook, he just hadn't bickered with Bernard in two days—but eventually he found himself in the kitchen, wearing an apron and covered in flour. They were cooking…_something_ that had a really long, disgusting, complicatedly foreign-sounding name. Bernard was spinning batter—or at least, a substance that looked like it was supposed to be batter, but Scott couldn't be sure.

"Separate some eggs into that bowl," Bernard instructed, nodding his head to another bowl sitting near Scott. "No more than four. You _do_ know how to do that, right?"

"Of course I know how to separate _eggs_," Scott said testily, seizing an egg off the counter, and then promptly dropping it. It splattered on the ground.

"Yeah, you're a pro," Bernard said flatly.

"Shut up," Scott snapped as Bernard set down his bowl of possibly-batter and stooped to clean up the yolky mess at Scott's feet. Scott noticed a bit of eggshell on his shoe and bent to swipe it away. He miscalculated Bernard's proximity, and didn't expect him to stand up when he did.

Scot felt his lower lip split painfully, and heard the equally painful _clack_ sound as Bernard's teeth collided heavily with his. His mouth throbbed and bruised, and he felt the bitter metallic taste of blood fill his mouth, accompanied by something that tasted marginally sweeter. Bernard's blood.

"Unnngh!" they grunted in unison, staggering away from each other and clutching their mouths. Bernard's mouth was bleeding, too.

"Ow!" Scott exclaimed. "Okay, _that_ hurt!"

"I'll say!" Bernard cried accusatorily, pulling his hands away from his lips to examine the blood while Scott did the same. "Look what you did!"

"What _I _did?!"

"Yeah _you_! Unngh!" Bernard pressed his fingers back to his bleeding mouth. "What were you _doing?_"

"I was bending down to get something off my shoe!" Scott said, annoyed, wincing as he spoke. "_You're_ the one who stood up and smacked your mouth on mine!"

Both of them froze. Scott felt the back of his neck heat up, and he saw Bernard's pointed ears go pink.

"Way to give me your freakin' death kiss!" Scott said finally, trying to mask his embarrassment with sarcasm and only succeeding in sounding reproachfully mortified.

Bernard's face went fire engine red. "It _wasn't_ a kiss!"

Scott groaned again, pulling his fingers away from his mouth again to look at them. He glanced at Bernard and found him holding his fingers to injured lips, an expression of concentration on his face. After a moment, Bernard dropped his hands, and Scott could see no sign of the previous damage that had been there. Lucky little bastards, those elves and their magic.

Scott's voice was incredibly indignant as he said, "Fix mine, too!"

And the second time Bernard kissed Scott, it was on purpose.

"It wasn't a kiss," he repeated, glaring fiercely at Scott as he slowly approached him. He lifted his hands, but they didn't touch Scott's lips. They went up to grip his hair and gently, he tugged him down to his height and lightly touched his healed lips to Scott's tender, broken ones.

Scott's eyes went wide as dinner plates, his mind shorting out as pleasant waves of…_magic_ pulsing from Bernard's lips onto his. He felt his busted lip sealing cleanly shut, felt the throbbing bruises fading away, felt the ache in his front teeth dying. But all of that was white noise to the fantastical sparks in Bernard's kiss, the fireworks exploding behind Scott's eyes.

When Bernard pulled back, Scott's lips were perfect, and Bernard was blushing madly, still glaring. "_That_ was a kiss. Don't you forget it."

And Scott wondered why he got a smile first, when a kiss was so much better.

* * *

**Author's Note: **_HEY LOOK. Scott/Bernard! Didn't see that coming, didja?_

_Just to tie up some loose ends:_

_1. The only thing I count as canon is the FIRST Santa Clause movie. The other two were absolute crap. They suffered horrendously from Sequelitis. Especially Bernard, and then he wasn't even IN the third one. So, Carol or whatever her name was, is gone. Yay!_

_2. It's already known that ages don't mean a thing to me when it comes to love, but even if they DID, Bernard is still like a thousand years old, and Scott was…what, late thirties? Yeah, it's not like pedophilia even had a say in this one. XD_

_3. For some reason, I've always fancied that, once Scott finished delivering all the presents, his beard and weight and everything disappeared for the majority of the year and then started growing back later in the year. This works better for the aesthetic appeal of Scott/Bernard, too, because even I think it's weird to have this white-haired bearded dude kissing what seems to be a sixteen-year-old boy. XD_

_4. Like pretty much everything I write, these will be DRABBLES. Short little stories that are completely unrelated to one another unless explicitly stated otherwise. Huzzah!_

_So be on the lookout for chapter two!_


	2. Skeletons in the Closet

**Favoritism**

**By: **_Sugar Skulls_

**Summary: **_Scott's not the jolliest Santa the world has seen, and Bernard can be a bit Grinchy, too. It's a match made in a freakin' winter wonderland. Scott/Bernard drabbles.

* * *

_

The morning conversation was light and distracted, as always. Bernard seated himself beside Scott, as he always did, but barely spared him a glance or a word. Scott, as always, felt awkward eating in silence and struck up a conversation. Bernard, as always, was far more interested in his food than he was interested in Scott, but he was polite enough to respond and give him at least _some_ attention.

The conversation that morning had turned to the history of Christmas and Santa Claus's role in the holiday. Bernard's answers were short, not going into detail unless Scott prodded. Eventually, Scott had gotten himself into the topic of the original Santa. Curiously, he asked if Bernard was around when Santa Claus first showed up. When Bernard slowly responded, "Yes…" Scott asked if they had been close.

Bernard, mouth full of eggs and his fork hovering just before his lips, froze. He glanced at Scott, then swallowed his food hugely, wincing as only partially-chewed things scraped down his esophagus.

"I'm not entirely comfortable with the turn this conversation has taken," Bernard said stiffly, and Scott wondered if Bernard's pointed ears had gone pink or if that was just the lights.

"What? Why?" Scott asked, confused. "All I asked was if you were close; it's not that difficult a question…"

"I didn't say it was a difficult question," Bernard said sharply, refusing to meet Scott's gaze as he threw down his napkin and stood up. "I'm just not going to answer it." He spared Scott a fleeting but very pointed look that added _so drop it_ to the end of his sentence. He lifted his plate—still covered with food, which was unusual for Bernard—and made his way for the stacks of dirty dishes.

But now Scott was _really_ curious. He, too, picked up his plate and followed the surly elf. Bernard glared at him, displeased with Scott's choice to come after him. He turned and stalked away, but Scott fell into step beside him.

"Why don't you want to answer?" he asked.

"Because it's _personal_," Bernard said, disgruntled. "So go away."

"I'm your boss," Scott reminded him with smug authority. "You can't tell me to go away."

Bernard shot him another annoyed look, because Scott was right. So he settled instead for looking as unapproachable as possible. It made the other elves give him a wide berth, but Scott was unaffected.

"Was he your dad or something?" he pressed nosily.

Bernard startled him with a brief, slightly hysterical little laugh before saying, "No."

Scott's eyebrows, which had hit his hairline at the bizarreness of Bernard's laugh, lowered and furrowed. Bernard pressed his lips into a thin line, clearly realizing that he wasn't doing a very good job at getting Scott disinterested.

"I have work to do," he said shortly, and as Scott opened his mouth, he pointed a finger at him fiercely, adding, "And so do you, Santa. So, once again, and with all due respect: _Go – away._"

Scott gave him a look of tolerant annoyance, but said nothing, because he did have things to do. He could always bother Bernard at lunchtime, anyway. Bernard relaxed a bit, now that Scott was giving up pestering him for the time being. But as he gave Scott his customary nod farewell and walked away, it didn't escape Scott's notice that his back was still impeccably straight, tense, and the tips of his ears were definitely glowing pink. Weird.

Well, now Scott _had_ to get an answer.

And so he pestered. At every opportunity. If he crossed paths with Bernard while they were on duty, he asked him about the original Santa and him repeatedly. Bernard ignored, deflected, and refused to answer every time, and the only time Scott gave up a round of questioning was if he knew one of them _really_ needed to get back to work or if Bernard was getting that look that implied he was honestly trying not to punch Scott out.

It wasn't until after dinner and all the elves were buzzing around saying their goodnights and scattering every which way for their rooms that Bernard finally caved.

"Okay, you know what?" Bernard snapped, whirling to glare up at him. "Fine. Fine! I'll tell you, if it gets you off my back!"

"Awesome. Cool," said Scott triumphantly.

"But keep in mind: Curiosity killed the cat," Bernard said severely.

Scott raised an eyebrow. "Uh, okay…why?"

"Because if you breathe a word about what I'm going to tell you to anyone, _I will kill you._" He didn't seemed to be kidding. Scott blinked. Bernard shifted uncomfortably, his face turning red. "The original Santa Claus…I…well, we were…uh…he…" He trailed off, not meeting Scott's eyes. He seemed to be considering simply running for the hills. But that just wasn't Bernard. The nervous, stuttering Bernard was strange enough on its own.

After a few moments of silence, Scott asked none-too-tactfully, "Why is your face so red? Is it _that_ embarrassing?"

"_No_," Bernard said harshly, flaring up immediately, though his face still burned crimson. "I'm not…_ashamed_ or anything, it's just…" He clenched his jaw tightly and crossed his arms stiffly, glancing around at the bustling elves surrounding them. Scott wondered why Bernard didn't just pull him into a secluded corner or something.

"The original Santa," Bernard began again, fixing his gaze on something somewhere to Scott's left, "was…we were, for lack of a better term…an item." He finally looked Scott in the eye, his cheeks practically on fire.

And Scott just stared. Bernard stared back, waiting. Several long, awkward seconds passed until Bernard finally dropped his eyes to the floor. Scott just stared.

A few more seconds ticked by, and Bernard looked up again, still looking distinctly uncomfortable, but most of the redness had left his cheeks, just a pink tinge remaining. In a tone that was closer to his usual brisk demeanor, but still quite nervous, he prodded, "Can we wrap this up soon? 'Cause I got places to be." It looked like he was trying to play this revelation off like he didn't really care what Scott thought; defiant, nonchalant, daring him to judge.

But his face flushed brightly again when Scott incredulously said, "Like, _lovers?_" A few passing elves cast him curious looks, and Bernard grit his teeth. He grabbed Scott's arm and dragged him away from the hubbub of the main workshop, leading Scott into an empty corridor. Suddenly Scott understood why Bernard chose to break the news somewhere where it wasn't just the two of them.

"Yes, lovers, okay?" Bernard hissed furiously, releasing him. "Happy now?"

"No!" Scott cried, horrified.

"Oh, don't give me any of that," Bernard said scornfully. "Do I need to remind you of Jenny Johnston's birthday party, ninth grade? Seven Minutes in Heaven with Bobby Duncan that went better than anticipated?"

It was Scott's turn to blush. "How do you even know about that!?"

"You weren't always Santa, _Scott_," Bernard said haughtily. "I kept an eye on you along with every other kid in the world, just like every elf here."

Scott tried not to think about that. "Well, whatever, I wasn't talking about the…_sexual orientation_ aspect of your…_relationship_." Both of them turned red, neither one quite able to look at the other. "But, I mean…hell, Bernard, how _old_ were you!?"

"That's my business," Bernard said, looking quite mortified.

"It's a little too late to worry about secrets, now that _this_ is in the open!" Scott pointed out. Bernard scowled, embarrassed.

"_Fine_," he snapped. "Sixteen, alright?"

"And Santa?"

"The _original_ Santa," Bernard, blushing even deeper. "_You're _Santa."

"Whatever!" Scott exclaimed. "How old was he?"

"Things were different back then," Bernard said evasively. "Bigger age gaps occurred in everyday marriages…not that we were married, but…"

"Oh God, he was an old geezer, wasn't he!?" Scott guessed. Bernard glared at him.

"Late thirties," he corrected testily. "The white beard has never been a sign of old age. Just a disguise for when he traveled every Christmas Eve. And in that time period, I was considered an adult, so you can _stop_ looking at me like I'm some pedophile's victim." He gave Scott a stern stare. "It was a willing, mutual, _healthy_ relationship. The only thing wrong with it was that homosexuality was much more taboo then than it is now."

The humiliated flush had drained from Bernard's face, and Scott's cheeks were slowly returning to a normal color.

"Well," he said awkwardly. "Well! That's, uh…then that's fine…I guess."

Bernard nodded briskly. "Good. I'm glad we that out of the way." His severe expression returned, and he said darkly, "But not a word. To _anyone_."

"I don't think anybody here would mind, though," Scott said. Bernard pursed his lips.

"I can't be too sure. And I don't want it spreading around that I used to be sleeping with my boss." Scott made startled choking sort of noise, but Bernard's expression was still composed and serious. Now that worst part of the discussion was over, and Scott had handled it fairly well, Bernard was merciless as he plowed on, "And if that isn't enough of incentive, then think about this: the original Santa and I never broke it off before he died. So, now that you're Santa, you are technically my boyfriend."

Heat flooded Scott's face and his eyes went wide. Bernard's eyes glinted roguishly as he strode past him without another word to retire for the night.

* * *

_Muahaha._


	3. Cold Feet

**Favoritism**

**By: **_Sugar Skulls_

**Summary: **_Scott's not the jolliest Santa the world has seen, and Bernard can be a bit Grinchy, too. It's a match made in a freakin' winter wonderland. Scott/Bernard drabbles.

* * *

_

"So, what do you think about marriage?"

Scott's question came out of nowhere, catching Bernard off guard. His head snapped up to gape at Scott in shock, his foot coming down on the icy pathway wrong. The slippery ice sent his foot forward, and gravity sent the rest of him to the ground. He swore darkly, wincing, as his rump connected painfully with the earth.

Scot hurried to pull him to his feet, asking in concern, "You alright?"

Ignoring his question, Bernard brushed Scott's hands away, still staring in disbelief. "What…what do I think about _marriage?_"

"Yeah." Scott looked at him expectantly. Bernard inwardly panicked. But _technically_ that hadn't been a proposal. Scott was just asking about the _idea _of marriage. That was it. Bernard tried to calm his fluttering heart with those thoughts. Not a proposal by any means. Not even _suggesting_ that the two of them get married. Just the _concept_ of marriage.

Making sure his expression was unconcerned, and watching his step more carefully, Bernard clasped his hands behind his back as he and Scott continued on their walk. "I think it's pretty pointless, actually."

"Really?" Scott was surprised. Bernard shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"It's just a bunch of paperwork," he said. "If two people love each other, who needs all the paperwork?"

"The paperwork makes it official," Scott lightly argued.

"It's up to the couple to decide what's official and what's not, isn't it?" Bernard countered. "Then there's the mess that divorce brings…just seems like a waste of time, to me."

"I guess," said Scott, frowning at the snow falling before them. Bernard felt a pang of guilt, but he shoved it brutally side.

_He's not disappointed,_ he told himself. _He wasn't about to propose._ Still, he reached out to hold Scott's hand in case he was. The guilty pang subsided a bit when Scott smiled and squeezed his hand tightly.

And Bernard thought that was that.

But then Scott broached the subject again at dinner, and it was a whole lot worse than the first time, in Bernard's opinion. Scott took his seat at the head of the long table that all the elves feasted at. Bernard's seat was at the very end, next to Scott. He was already seated when Scott brought it up.

"Would your opinion on marriage change if it was us getting hitched?" he asked, far too casually. His eyes were fixed on his food. Bernard's mouth went very dry. _Oh God._

"Are—" His voice came out hoarse, and he hastily cleared his throat. "Are you…proposing?"

Scott glanced at him—he was definitely faking that blasé attitude, Bernard knew—and said, "Only if you want me to be proposing."

Bernard swallowed, his mouth feeling like cotton. "No, my opinion still stands."

"Why?"

"Because," Bernard said, turning his gaze forcefully to his plate, "_I_ know I love you, _you_ know I love you, and vice versa. A piece of paper telling us what we already know is just redundant. Like I said, who needs the paperwork?"

"I _like_ the paperwork," Scott grinned. Bernard gave him a confused look, and Scott explained, "I know, I used to be a businessman, I should be sick of paperwork. But that's just it!" He was positively beaming. "As a former businessman, I _like_ that the paperwork makes it official."

"Why does it matter that a piece of paper makes it 'official?'" Bernard demanded.

Scott shrugged. "There's just something comforting about knowing that, legally, you're mine and nobody else's, and I'm yours."

Bernard couldn't keep himself from smiling at the warm affection Scott's answer held. Still, Scott's argument didn't sway him.

"My opinion still stands," he repeated firmly. "And since you gave the option, I'm choosing to interpret this conversation as completely hypothetical, and _not_ a proposal." Scott scowled, and Bernard turned his face up to kiss him briefly before capturing Quentin's attention on his other side and striking up a conversation with him.

After dinner, as Bernard sleepily made his way for his bedroom, he heard Scott say his name and felt him catch him by the hand. He turned, bemused. Was Scott accompanying him to his quarters tonight? Not that it wasn't an enjoyable idea, but it went against their agreement to save their particularly heated personal business for the weekends and days off only, so as to not be sleepy and sore during work. Tonight was Sunday night. They both had work in the morning.

"I'm not giving you any room for interpretation this time," Scott announced. "So tell me…will you marry me?"

Bernard stared up at him, his insides vanishing. _Why_ was Scott asking that? Why couldn't he just let it alone? "You know how I feel about—"

"Yeah, I know, and I think that's a load of crap," Scott interrupted in that tactful way of his. Bernard glared at him. "Is this a commitment thing? Because you _just said_, like, four hours ago, that you and I both know—"

"I'm not afraid of commitment," Bernard said impatiently. "And I _do_ love you, so shut up."

"Then why won't you marry me?" Scott asked. Bernard looked up at his suddenly vulnerable, nearly pleading face, and he sighed.

"Look, Scott, I've been around a long time," he said slowly. "I've seen a lot of marriages, and I've seen a lot of divorces. They're never pretty, and neither are the events leading up to them. Sometimes it's too much fighting. Sometimes it's abuse. Sometimes it's an affair. And sometimes it's just…loss of interest."

Scott stared at him, stunned. "You think you're going to get…_bored_ with me?"

Bernard's expression went very blank with astonishment, and then he felt a surge of anger. Glowering furiously, he gripped the front of Scott's shirt and yanked him down to his height, crushing his lips to his. After a moment, he released him, still irate.

"_No,_" he said angrily. "I will never, _ever_ get bored with you. I can't believe you'd be stupid enough to think that."

"Then what—"

"_You_ could get bored with _me_," Bernard said, and it felt like a punch in the gut to consider. "And I wouldn't want to deal with a divorce while going through that."

Scott looked horrified. "That's never going to—" But Bernard silenced him, pulling himself up to kiss him slowly, sadly. When he broke away, he sighed forlornly. "'Night, Scott." And he retreated into his bedroom.

But in the end, Bernard wondered if he ever stood a chance against another proposal from Scott. Maybe it was the way Scott proposed the second time. Maybe it was because Bernard really did want to marry him from the start. Either way, he was doomed the moment he walked into the main workshop Monday morning.

He paused, bewildered, when he saw that every single elf in the North Pole was packed into the room, staring up at him with grins spreading cheekily across their faces.

They needed to get to work! Testily, Bernard began sharply, "Uh—"

But Quentin, down below, hollered out, "One, two, three!"

And every voice shouted up to him, deafeningly loud, _"BERNARD, WILL YOU MARRY SANTA?"_

Bernard's mouth fell open, and he felt a warm pair of lips touch his temple. He turned to look at Scott, who was grinning a gentle grin.

"I'm never gonna get bored with you, either, you stupid little elf," he said. "Whaddya say, Bernard? Marry me?"

It was all Bernard could do to keep his legs from giving out beneath him, and so he sighed, smirking up at Scott. "Fine. Let's get hitched, boss."

* * *

**Author's Note: **_M'nawww. Hurray for established couples! Hurray for Bernard being a drama queen! Relax, dude, it's just a wedding._


End file.
